What the Camera Doesn't See
by Genji
Summary: What would happen if Gundam Wing were simply a show put on by actors. this fic explores the posibilities...
1. Default Chapter

What the Camera Doesn't See  
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Title: What the Camera Doesn't See: Part I  
Author: Genji  
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Warnings: AU, Language, Angst, humor attempts, strong Relena, bible references, but nothing preachy...I really can't say OOC b/c they are not their characters in real life, but I'll keep them close to their TV characters...confused? So am I.  
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Disclaimer: Wish I could own them, but can't. I'm not making a profit, so leave me alone. However, I do (sorta) own the five counterparts, Krista, Ida, Morganna, Elly and Lucie, as well as the other various original characters.  
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Notes: This deals with if the G-boys and Co. were merely actors in the TV series 'Gundam Wing' produced by Winner Productions. It was Quatre's idea that they all take part in the series, and the four complied more out of deference for the Arab than for their own dreams of fame and fortune. We come upon them as they finish the taping of Episode 24 (the one where Quatre pilots Wing Zero and goes crazy...I believe that's the number)  
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'thoughts'  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Written story  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
{Written Words}  
"Dialog"  
*emphasis* think italics  
~*~ Change of scene  
  
Ready? Entonces, epiezamos.. [Then, we begin...]  
============================================================================  
  
All the world's a stage  
And all the men and women are merely players  
They have their exits and their entrances  
And one man in his time plays many parts  
Shakespeare, "As You Like It"  
  
  
Heero rose from his seat behind the cameras. The director was yelling instructions and threats to the cast and crew alike. "Remember: no alcohol, no drugs, no girls! I want you back alive tomorrow at 5 AM sharp. If I hear otherwise, your ass is grass..." The man continued his rant, but few listened. Many of the crew were mouthing the words along with him as they cleaned up the set, changing it for the following day's rehearsal.   
  
It would be another week before they taped anything else. Rome wasn't built in a day, and neither was the set. There were missing components that would be added as time progressed. Heero walked away from the beehive of activity and to the common room the five boys shared. Quatre may have been from a family with money, but the rest...well, they had known the blond before the acting bug had bitten the Arab, and were all from simple, humble roots. Money had yet to corrupt them by showing them the finer things in life.   
  
The Japanese youth walked down the hall, passing an irate Relena, who was arguing with one of the writers. The girl waved a rolled up packet of paper, presumably a script, in the stoic man's face. She was trying to calmly get her point across, and utilized every bit of diplomacy she had picked up playing the pacifist princess. Even then she still spoke with her teeth clenched in frustration.   
  
"What do you mean 'no'?!? I demand you do my character justice! What do you mean you won't rewrite it? I refuse to go on television screaming, 'Heero! Hurry, please come and kill me!' Why don't I just say, 'Screw you! I'm going to create peace the way I think it's right.' Why must I waste my time on some stupid guy I met on the beach who's after me because I know his true identity? Why can't we retape it and then send it to the airwaves? It doesn't make sense..."   
  
Heero smirked as he moved out of earshot. Peacecraft was not a good name for the fiery actress. Relena took her work seriously and even though she scorned her part on the grounds of her character's beliefs concerning pacifism, she played it to the best of her ability. The results were actually very convincing. He nodded as he passed a bemused looking Trowa in the hall, obviously on his way out the door. The tall green-eyed teen had the longest commute home, since he had chosen a place by the sea instead of an apartment further inland like the rest.   
  
Regaining his composure, Heero ducked into the chamber he had set out for. The common room was worn but comfortable. Duo sat on the floor, pawing through a small pile of letters. The show 'Gundam Wing' had only recently started airing. The audience was small at the moment, since the entire budget had been spent on the show and there was nothing left for advertising costs.   
  
Duo held up a stack of paper. Some of the pages were scented with perfume, others contained professions of love and admiration. He read them with an amused look on his face. "Fan mail, fan mail, marriage proposal, fan mail, fan mail, death threat... No. This one's to you, Heero." The American held out a crisp, typed sheet. The Prussian-eyed actor scanned it quickly and handed it back. "It's not for me."   
  
The braided boy read it thoroughly this time, "You don't happen to be an Arabian whore by any chance, do you? I must've missed that first time through. This one's for the Q-man."   
  
"Don't you think it's a little odd that he should get anything like that?" Wufei asked. He was experienced in the hate mail department, having been accosted recently several times by angry feminists demanding that Chang Wufei show more respect to the female gender.   
  
The last time the Chinese boy had received any such thing he had simply shrugged it off, and slipped away from a protesting crowd that had gathered in front of the studios. That had been the day the first episode had aired. Needless to say, it had gotten the show's name around, and the viewing audience had been larger than projected. The black-eyed teen still got the letters demanding a formal apology, and when he did, he promptly dumped them on some unfortunate writer's desk.   
  
Wufei picked his gaze up from where he sat, polishing his sword. He glanced about the room, his eyes finally rested on the sleeping blond, who had done battle with the Zero system that day.   
  
Zero itself was operational, having been modeled after the system used in fighter planes. It was the result of one of the technician's genius; as well as stolen, but incomplete schematics; a graveyard shift as a security guard in a hardware store; and, most importantly, a large overdose of old coffee. Zero had been brought to work when the need for a new variation on the same old thing had become apparent. It hadn't been greeted with open arms, but Zero had earned its place after each of the writers had tried it, scoffing as they entered into the mock cockpit their words had created. Yet they always stepped out shaken. Wing Zero, and later Epyon, had soon been written in.   
  
Duo grinned, and remarked, "He's never gotten hate mail before, so it'll be a new experience for him. I don't think it should be taken seriously. How many death threats have you gotten, Heero?"   
  
"Five," the teen said dryly as he pulled a T-shirt over his head.   
  
"That was just with the rumors of what happens in episode 10..." Wufei stated, returning his gaze to the gleaming blade.   
  
"What could Quatre have done to deserve this, 'You may play in the garden of delights now, but soon you will be hurled out of Eden for defacing a god'?" Duo wondered, reading from the paper he held.   
  
"It's to Cain. Who's he? What bearing does he have on Quatre?" Heero asked on his way to the door.   
  
"You really don't know your Bible, do you? Cain-- he was Adam and Eve's son who slaughtered Abel. Quatre is the only Arab that works here, plus there were references to the 'Sandrock Harlot.' There's certainly nothing in the show that would suggest anything lurid. I don't like it."   
  
"Hn," was all Wufei said as he laid down the sword, but he added to the noncommittal grunt, "Get rid of it. There's no need for him to see it. It's just words."   
  
  
~*~  
  
  
Trowa put his keys on the side table after unlocking the door to his apartment. It was a nice, quaint place by the coast. It didn't matter that it took an hour and a half to commute between home and the studios--the trip was worth it. The green-eyed individual walked out onto the balcony and breathed the sea air with a sigh of release.   
  
He pulled out of his pocket a folded letter. It was his first, which was understandable since only the first two episodes had been aired. He gazed at the neat printing addressing it to Trowa Barton c/o Winner Productions. The 'i' in Winner had been dotted with a simple dot, and not the hearts that usually adorned Duo's correspondence. It appeared as if the contents of his letter would be frank and short.   
  
Trowa ripped off the right side of the envelope and slid the contents out. It was a single sheet, printed in tiny letters that he had to squint to read. He lifted the paper up closer to his eyes so that he could read in the dying light. It smelled like oranges, or maybe it was lemons, something citrus no doubt.   
  
{Dearest Abel-sama,  
  
I watch you every day. I can't get enough of you. I'm there when no one else is around. When you're all alone I see your every move. I am consumed by you. Oh how I long to touch you, to hold that beautiful body of yours in my arms, to run my fingers through your silken hair. But I must wait. The right time is vast approaching and you, my dear, shall be exulted to the high heavens (1).}   
  
{Forever yours,  
Rae (2)}  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
[1] Thanks go to Avalon Vamp...just a little tweaking...  
[2] Comes from Rachel, meaning Ewe. Abel was a shepherd and he loved his sheep...  
  
  



	2. What the Camera Doesn't See: Part II

What the Camera Doesn't See  
=======================================================   
Title: What The Camera Doesn't See: Part II  
Author: Genji  
Disclaimer: I don't claim to own anything but the words. The ideas belong to someone else  
Warnings: read the ones in the beginning. They haven't changed.  
  
'thoughts'  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Written story  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
{Written Words}  
"Dialog"  
*emphasis* think italics  
~*~ Change of scene  
  
=======================================================  
  
Between the dark and daylight  
When the night is beginning to lower,  
Comes a pause in the day's occupations,  
That is known as the Children's Hour  
--Henry Wadsowrth Longfellow, The Children's Hour  
  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
Quatre had opted for a private apartment away from the bustling mansion where his father resided. He didn't like being waited on hand and foot, and after a huge tiff with his one surviving parent it had become apparent that neither would concede defeat. The matter had been settled when Quatre had moved out and gotten a job in produce at the local grocery store.   
  
The acting bug had bitten the youth when the drama club at Roanoke High had started casting for its annual musical production. That year it had been 'The King and I.' Of course the theatrical powers that make dress rehearsals a complete failure while opening night is a smash, conspired against the slight eighteen-year-old senior.   
  
Quatre had had a cold the day of tryouts and the congestion had made it impossible to sing 'I Have Dreamed' without becoming inaudible during the high notes. Needless to say he had been relegated to the role of a monk, an almost non-speaking role with the exception of some minor chanting.   
  
Even then, it was under the hot lights that Quatre felt truly alive, relishing the fact that his movements across the stage gave others pleasure. That knowledge alone was thanks enough for the countless hours going over the same scene ad infinitum.   
  
Even after the final curtain call, Quatre wanted to continue acting. Of course the other thousand or so people in the area had taken up all the acting jobs. No one needed another cherubim to play the hapless protagonist, plus others had better connections and prestigious acting degrees to their name, and not simply a part in a high school play.   
  
Quatre walked into the small apartment and smiled as a tiger cat rubbed itself against his legs, purring its greeting.   
  
"Nice to see you too, Riyad (1)." He dropped the mail he had picked up on his way up to his apartment on the kitchen table. The refrigerator door was then opened and the Arab started rummaging through the contents for a quick, light, meal.   
  
Riyad lightly vaulted onto the table, and with gentle paws proceeded to spread out the mail. An envelope fluttered lazily to the ground. Quatre returned to the room, tossing an apple from one hand to the other.   
  
"Hul khalast (2)?" he asked in Arabic with a pretend glare. "You don't know that, do you, Riyad? I'm going to have to teach you Arabic one of these days." He picked up the cat up off the table.   
  
"Are you finished going through my mail? Anything good? I see you've dropped something, monsignor." Quatre bent down and picked up the fallen letter. He read the addressee once and then smiled. "Corresponding under the pen name of Cain, Riyad? I'll take this to the post office to return to sender...but there's no return address. I suppose there's no hurt in opening it."   
  
  
~*~  
  
  
"So, did you see it?" Lucie twirled a lock of her long blond hair around her finger. With her other hand she held a french fry, but she didn't eat it.   
  
"Episode three. He jumped out of a medical building and fell in a suicide attempt," Krista remarked, eyes glazing over dreamily. "Set his broken bone with his own two hands. Anyone tape it? I wanna see it again."   
  
"I'm sure there will be reruns," the braided girl that sat directly across from her assured. "I'll be sure to tape it then."   
  
"I don't know why you guys waste your time on this stuff," Elly remarked, helping herself to the food in the center tray.   
  
"You're bound to us, girlie, whether you like it or not. You got us started down this destructive road," Morganna reminded as she threw her heavy mahogany braid over her shoulder. Elly had been the one who had started the tradition of watching movies until everyone's brains rotted and then driving out to the coast for some fast food and a nice conversation.   
  
"It's not destructive, it's a healthy attraction!" Lucie defended herself and her friends.   
  
"Krista, what is it with that far away look? You with us? Why do you always zone out when pain and gore and stuff like that comes up? You a sadomasochist or something?" Ida demanded. Her bright blue eyes focused on glazed brown ones.   
  
Krista shook her head, banishing the thoughts that danced through her mind, making her almost oblivious to the goings-on in her outside environment. "No. What do you take me for? Some kind of pervert?" Good girls didn't have such thoughts. Good girls would be shocked at some of the things the eighteen-year-old girl had internalized.   
  
"Well, you do read the stuff on the 'net," Lucie said sullenly. She pulled at her hair. "It's just sick to read about two guys going at it."   
  
Krista shrugged, unwilling to mar the day with a dispute. "To each his own."   
  
"Lucie, did you ever send that letter?" Elly chuckled amicably; being the sanest one in the quintet of lunatics she could afford to tease the others.   
  
"Not on your life! If I'm going to write something, I want it to be eloquent and mysterious. Go ask Morg, she wrote one up as well."   
  
"We all did," Morganna said irritably. She brightened. "If I remember correctly I saw you, Elly, getting ready to send yours. What'd it say? You were so secretive and you wouldn't share. Come on, spill."   
  
"No. It's for me to know and you to spend the rest of your life trying to find out." Elly tossed a fry at the braided Morganna only to miss and hit the musing Ida, who was staring off into the distance. The girl blinked and quickly stilled the coming storm by saying, "We all promised to send ours, and if you didn't...well, I'll hafta sic Sandra on you."   
  
"That's not much of a threat. She's only a puppy," Krista remarked, getting up and patting her jeans down, searching for a couple bucks to pay for her part of the meal.   
  
"She's gonna be big. Burmese Mountain dogs gotta be b-" Her eye caught sight of the brown-eyed girl's antics, digging deeply into each and every pocket. "Kris, don't bother pretending you have money deep inside those empty pockets, I'll cover for you. You go through this routine each time we come here. This time you gotta pay for gas," Ida said, dropping a crumpled twenty on the table.   
  
"But I'm broke-"   
  
"You're always broke. Where does it all go?"   
  
"Wouldn't you like to know?" Krista said, poking her friend in the ribs before skipping out onto the boardwalk while the rest paid their debt to a bored, greasy man, who grudgingly gave them their change.   
  
  
~*~  
  
  
Trowa settled down next to the blond Arab. Quatre smiled and nodded his hello. He continued to gaze across the lot, which hummed with activity during the early lunch hour. That morning they had read through the script so many times, that both actors felt that all the writers should be slowly hung, though neither of them admitted to that common belief.   
  
  
Relena sat fuming in her chair, and sullenly listened to her coworkers read their lines. Episode four was scheduled to air in three days and both the director and head writer had laughed in her face when she suggested they retract the tape and redo it.   
  
But she wouldn't go down quietly.   
  
During the readings she interjected at random points, speaking in her well-known pacifist princess voice, taking out the harsh edge that usually became apparent when she spoke out of character.   
  
"Let's build nuclear missiles and shoot them at the colonies. Whoever survives the aftermath the longest wins!" or "I'm abdicating so Dorothy can take my place. She'll make a much better leader."   
  
It didn't help when Dorothy shouted back, upon hearing the last remark, "Guns for everyone!"   
  
Zechs swatted the fork-eyebrowed girl across the side of the head. Dorothy turned and punched him in the gut. "I told you *not* to touch me."   
  
Zechs straightened up and wrapped his arms around the actress, "But you were asking for it."   
  
"Now *you're* asking for it." Dorothy elbowed the man in the ribs and skipped merrily away.   
  
"You just KNOW she wants you," Duo said, coming from behind and clapping the blond on the shoulder.   
  
"Oh, it's not the having, it's the getting," Zechs remarked before adding, "I haven't even begun to consider the having part."   
  
Duo was about to respond when a crisp, clear voice interrupted, "When you are done fraternizing with the enemy, Zechs, would you be so kind as to grace us with your presence?" Trieze called, gesturing to a seat next to Noin who looked ill at the thought of being forced to sit next to the man who didn't know when to quit.   
  
...end flashback>   
  
"How's Riyad?" Trowa asked, pulling a bag of carrot sticks out of the brown paper bag he had carried with him. He made a mental note that he needed to go to the store sometime soon.   
  
"A joy on cat feet," Quatre said, and let his smile change to a grin. "He's not yet one year old and he already understands what I say. You catch the game last night?"   
  
"Got it on tape. I've been avoiding all the media so I won't find out who won."   
  
"Up for another game of hoops after *cough* work? I'll beat the two of you this time 'round." Duo asked as he joined the pair sitting on the steps.   
  
"You bring a ball that actually bounces?" Wufei asked from his spot in the shadows. He had traded his white garments that he wore as a pilot for a comfortable pair of jeans and a black tee. Like a chameleon he faded into his surroundings, allowing him to go practically anywhere without attracting attention, unlike Duo who couldn't have increased the amount of attention he received by going about wearing huge neon signs spelling out in gaudy orange, yellow and pink 'Celebrity.'   
  
"Uh-huh. You gonna side with these losers?"   
  
  
~*~  
  
  
With decisive movements the hands plucked the petals from the roses that had been bought. The pale pink slips littered the wooden floor, like it was a church aisle after the wedding and someone has forgotten to sweep up the blossoms that a tiny flower girl threw down.   
  
The desecrated stalks, which had been stripped of everything but their thorns, were placed in a box filled with white tissue paper. Again and again the act was repeated methodically until there were none. The box was closed, wrapped in common brown paper and addressed to an apartment not far from Winner Studios. Once that was done, the fallen whispers of dawn-tinted smoothness were swept up.   
  
  
~*~  
  
  
(1) Riyad (ree-YAHD) is an Arabic name meaning gardens. Cain was a farmer.  
(2) 'Are you finished?' Due to the confusion my beta-readers expressed I'll translate, though it's not really necessary since it's translated in the next couple lines.   
  
  
  



	3. What the Camera Doesn't See: Part III

What the Camera Doesn't See  
=======================================================   
Title: What the Camera Doesn't See: Part III  
Author: Genji  
Warnings: Look at part 1.  
Disclaimer: I don't even dream of owning them, because when I'd wake up I'd be disappointed.  
  
'thoughts'  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Written story  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
{Written Words}  
"Dialog"  
*emphasis* think italics  
~*~ Change of scene  
=======================================================  
  
Laughter shall drown the raucous shout;  
And, though these shelt'ring walls are thin,  
May they be strong to keep hate out  
And hold love in.  
--Louis Untermeyer, Prayer for this House  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
Quatre threw down the sack of groceries on the table and picked up the cat that had been trying to trip him since he had walked in the door.   
  
"Yeah, I know, I'm late, aren't I, Riyad? It's not my fault. Duo doesn't know when to quit. We beat him again and again and again. I don't know why he doesn't ask Wufei or Heero or Zechs or someone to join him. It's too easy to trounce him in the first five minutes, and then he's running around trying to catch up. Trowa offered to sit it out, but Duo said he could win against the two of us. He says that every time."   
  
The gray and black feline purred. Quatre smiled, "Has he ever beaten us? Is that what you're asking, Riyad? Yeah, once. I thought he'd quit while he was ahead, but no. He must continue to challenge us. I hear there's a betting pool among the crew. Something about how long it will take for Duo to realize it's hopeless. I wonder how long I would put my money on. Anything happen today? You didn't like that letter last night, did you? No, neither did I." Quatre put the cat down and started putting the groceries away. Riyad streaked off in the direction of the bedroom.   
  
The doorbell rang. Quatre emerged from the kitchen and walked the short distance to the door. He opened it to reveal a non-descript female holding a package wrapped in brown paper. She thrust a clipboard at him. He signed it and she goggled upon seeing his signature. But her job wasn't to make small talk with the customers. She handed over the elongated box and took her leave, shaking her dark head all the way back to the delivery truck.   
  
She didn't notice a figure sitting on a nearby bench, reading a newspaper. By means of a hole punched through the gray material, one clear eye watched the brown-uniformed woman depart. Ideas were already forming in the figure's head, as numbers flowed from a pen that one of the hands held. The entrance code appeared on the edge of the day's newspaper. The paper was then duly folded and slowly the person who had spent the afternoon on the bench walked away, just another pedestrian on the sidewalk.   
  
  
~*~  
  
  
Trowa smiled as he coasted to a stop in the black Beamer. He got out of his car, touching the paint affectionately before stepping out of the caged in area and closing the sturdy gates. He locked them with a simple padlock and shook the doors to make sure his transportation was secure.   
  
His garage was simply a slab of concrete surrounded on three sides by sturdy mason work. On the fourth side was a hinged gate forged of wrought iron. If he walked down the dimly lit corridor that passed by each of the cages containing the other lodgers' most prized items, he could enter through a dank hole in the wall, which although locked did not provide that much security, since anyone with patience and a lock pick could get in. A surfboard was leaned up against the bars haphazardly; it fell down mysteriously, as if the force of gravity had proven itself too much to bear.   
  
Trowa ignored the aura of doom that always seemed to pervade the cool depths of the garage, and walked out of it, into the early summer twilight. Instead of going in the back way, like he normally did, he chose to use the front entrance. He strode up to the main door and then paused, his finger hovering over the keypad. Across the street came the roar of the pounding waves. Trowa turned away from the door and walked toward the sound. Crashing waves pulled him away from his original destination.   
  
Jaywalking across the street, he made his way to the boardwalk. The sun felt good as he leaned over the rail watching the last few families pack up to go home. On the beach a kid was trying to get a kite off the ground. He ran and ran and ran, but the tail simply dragged in the sand. Trowa watched with a hidden smile. His mind drifted back to Roanoke High, where he had met Quatre. He had met them all there, more specifically during rehearsals for the play, 'The King and I'.   
  
His best friend Adrian had convinced Trowa to join him backstage. Adrian had spent his entire high school career there. Whether it was for a simple band concert that needed the lights adjusted, or a full-scale production of 'Mame,' the dark teen had been on hand. Trowa had been new at the school, and had fallen into the Mexican's company. Thus, under his friend's prompting he had joined the crew. The set was constructed first-- Adrian had signed Trowa up without his knowledge. But Trowa never complained.   
  
Adrian had been a good guy. He had a perfect life-- on the outside. He was always up for a night of just driving around or fishing, a game of hoops or hockey, talking all night about chicks or cars or nothing at all. He hadn't been above lending Trowa his homework when the green-eyed senior had stumbled over a calculus problem 'Ms. Fish' had sprung on him the first day Trowa had appeared in the senile woman's class.   
  
Adrian had always put the needs of his 'gang' before his, and eventually living for others led to a severe bout with depression. But no one noticed. He acted normal in front of the guys, because his own problems were irrelevant. It was this attitude that led him to eat a slug from a .45 Colt.   
  
Trowa had been bereft for weeks on end. He reverted to his anti-social behavior that Adrian had worked so hard to have him discard. Three words had woken him up from his perpetual stupor. "You OK, man?" A violet-eyed senior from properties asked him, before handing him a book that needed to be out on stage for that particular scene. They had been said in the same way Adrian always spoke them when they had spent the night in silence by the creek.   
  
"You OK, man?" the self-dubbed prop master had asked again.   
  
There was a growl from behind a black speaker, which during show time would make it possible for those in the wings to hear their cues as they occurred on stage. A tousled head appeared from behind it. Underneath the untamed bangs, fierce blue eyes glared into the braided teen's back. Speaking around the pliers that were clenched in his teeth, the new arrival had growled, "Leave him alone, Duo," before returning to rewiring the ancient piece of equipment.   
  
Of course, Duo did not heed his friend's order, but started talking non-stop about nothing in particular. And, for the first time since Adrian had died, Trowa felt the grief ease from his shoulders-- just a little bit. Duo had shown him around to his friends like a prize, but that was just the teen's way.   
  
That was how he had met them all, all four of them. No, Relena had been there also, though she was more of an enigma to him. The girl had played Ana starring across from the high school basketball captain. As a rule, cast and crew didn't mix-- at least not normal cast members. The priests were different. They sat in the hallway and sang along with every song. Duo would join them, sitting on the speaker and belting out in a mockery of the king, "Shall we dance? One, two, three. Shall we dance? One, two, three..."   
  
Heero would then have come around, yelled at the properties personnel and dispelled the singing monks with a single glare. Of course, the orange robe clad teens always came back. It was too much fun to be dispelled by a single indifferent AV crewman and a couple of irate directors who refused to leave the audience and sent their unwilling minion in their stead.   
  
Trowa smiled slightly and shook his head. The last rays of light were dancing on the horizon and the moon had risen early, casting its own faint glow in the growing darkness. The kite had been packed up and the beach was now deserted. Trowa pushed away from the railing and turned back across the street.   
  
The white building loomed up against the other shapes hidden from the light of the dying celestial fire. A short apartment building, compared to the newer addition to the neighborhood, Trowa's room was the second from the top. The fourth floor, room 12D faced the sea, and in the morning he could look out onto the stormy water as the coffee percolated in the tiny kitchen.   
  
The inside décor itself was an interior decorator's worst nightmare, but the youth didn't care much for appearances, having been disillusioned at a young age about life. Not that he let it pass through the façade he had created for himself, but deep down he knew that beauty was only skin-deep. The apartment was serviceable, and almost cozy. The typical bachelor pad with dirty dishes sometimes filling up the sink, and the couch was worn to the point where there were holes in it. The actor had a sneaking suspicion he shared that piece of furniture with a small guest, but as long as the rodent was quiet and didn't do any further damage, Trowa let him be.   
  
The uni-banged boy arrived at the door once again, and this time he punched in his code and slid into the unlit atrium.   
  
  
~*~  
  
  
Trembling hands put down the binoculars and scribbled a series of numbers down on a pad of paper. The solitary figure moved away from where it had been leaning against the building and walked away. With staccato-like steps the slip of a person slid into the shadows and was gone.   
  
  
~*~  
  
  
Krista chewed on the end of her pen. It was the AP Bio final exam and all she could remember were scenes from the fics she had read instead of studying the night before. Her eyes darted over to her friend's paper and, with practiced skill, she put the answer down in her own words. As she finished the exam, she caught sight of the miniature drawings in the margins of Morganna's paper. A one-eyed Trowa was being pursued by a chibi-Quatre. Chibi-Duo sat in the corner, holding a teddy bear, and the beginnings of a sulky looking Heero were taking shape under the direction of a skilled fountain pen.   
  
"Time's up," Mr. Stratinski announced, and there was a general shuffling of papers as booklets and answer sheets found their way to the front. The teacher, who had caused more GPA's to drop than flies in winter, gathered the papers, and started on the monologue that the seniors knew all too well, since each of the teachers said it at the end of the final. The graying woman in the corner of the room raised her eyes to heaven. Obviously she'd been proctoring this exam for too many years.   
  
The class fidgeted as the five-minute lecture continued. Krista caught Lucie's eye and mouthed, "The Tree when he frees us from this hell-hole." Lucie nodded and leaned across the aisle to poke Ida, who sat next to the blond, not by any accident.   
  
Krista scribbled her message onto her hand and waved it in front of Morganna's face. The braided beauty nodded, and shoved the hand down as Stratinski concluded with, "Therefore, if you ever go to jail, I won't be the one to vouch for your character." The class nodded and raced out of the stuffy room for the last time.   
  
The Tree, as the huge maple in the back of the school was known, gave a welcomed shade in the searing early summer heat. The four girls raced, whooping to the gathering place. They had fought for the rights to hang there countless times, especially those from the freshmen class, who didn't respect the upperclassmen's prerogative.   
  
"Where's Elly?" Ida asked, scurrying up to her place in the branches.   
  
"Job. She had her science final this morning," Lucie informed her friend.   
  
Ida grunted, and reclined against the thick trunk.   
  
"So, whatcha gonna do this summer?" the blond girl asked, settling on the ground.   
  
"Destroy any brain cells I have left which high school and that formaldehyde in Bio didn't kill off already," Ida said cheerfully. "Wanna join me?"   
  
"I got the tapes for Escaflowne. Kris, your Internet is good for something," Lucie remarked with an air of satisfaction. She had always had this mistrust of computers, since if she couldn't see how it worked it was, in her words, 'evil'.   
  
"There's better stuff than just cheap tapes. Much better stuff." Krista licked her lips and flopped down on the grass. "Morg, I gotta send you some of the fics I read last night. Good stuff."   
  
"Oh, so that's what you were doing that led you to reading my answers on Stratinski's test."   
  
Lucie laughed. "See what happens when you read that crap?"   
  
"Yuri's much better," Ida muttered.   
  
Krista laughed. "One of these day's I'm gonna show you what you're missing, Luce. I personally wanna see 1 x 3, but it's always 3 x 4 or 4 x 3, and 1 x 2 and 2 x 1. Sure, I love 1 x2 or vice versa but let's have 'em switch up a bit. I'm sick o' that little 'oh my heart hurts' routine Quatre always plays. Kill 'em before they kill you, that's the way."   
  
Morganna grinned, "But Q-man's rich. I'd like some of that action. Plus, they've gotta have a sensitive character to play upon the emotions of. I'd just have fun screwing with his head, just to hear him scream. Sadistic? Well, I don't see that I have a chance, and we're all entitled to our fantasies. Right, Kris? I bet he's the only one that would probably actually care about his mate. I find it hard to believe the others are human, with the exception of Duo, and even he's crazy."   
  
"But that makes the other so much more enticing. I wanna break down their emotions, anything to get a rise outta them. Wufei would be an interesting subject to study, he seems so confuzzled," Kris countered.   
  
Lucie rolled her eyes. "And I thought that *I* was crazy! Really, isn't it just enough to see 'em up on screen? They're all such cute guys, what more could you want?"   
  
"But Luce, the imagination is a wonderful thing. And there are some great writers out there. It's a shame that you don't try it out. I'm thinking of writing a couple things myself."   
  
Lucie laughed. "Kris, you writing? This is coming from the girl that hated English for years on end? As for missing out on some great stories, my mind is satisfied just watching the series." She trilled her tongue, "Rrrrrrr..."   
  
"I may so try. An' I'll write a 1 x 3 lemon, an' then maybe a 4 x 3 just for you, Morg. Ida, you got any requests?"   
  
"Sally x Noin."   
  
"Noin?" Morganna asked, confused.   
  
"Purple hair, lieutenant, sorta like a female Trowa," Krista explained.   
  
"Mmm...I saw some pics, not bad looking. She's supposedly a strong female character." Morganna tried to redeem herself.   
  
"She carries a gun," Ida remarked with decided finality.   
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
  



	4. What the Camera Doesn't See: Part IV

What the Camera Doesn't See  
=======================================================   
Title: What the Camera Doesn't See: Part: IV  
Author: Genji  
Disclaimer & Warnings: See Part I  
Denotations:  
  
'thoughts'  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Written story  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
{Written Words}  
"Dialog"  
*emphasis* think italics  
~*~ Change of scene  
=======================================================  
  
One's home is both paradise and hell.  
-- Rumanian Proverb  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
"Yo, Q-man! There's something dreadfully wrong with this picture!" Duo spoke cheerfully, as he gazed through the rectangle he had created with his thumbs and forefingers. His violet eyes were focused on a vase, which had recently been placed on the counter.   
  
"No, there's nothing wrong," Quatre said defiantly, touching the green stalks gently.   
  
"Who're they from? The Lotus-Eaters (1)? That would explain why you forgot your lines today."   
  
"A fan-- a kid most likely. Probably didn't have enough money to get fresh ones, and so he scrounged them up from the garbage. I think it's the gesture that counts. Who else would send such things?"   
  
"Yee-haw! We have a new type of audience. I thought Gundam Wing was only watched by violent guys and hormone crazed girls. It's a relief to know that someone semi-sane is watching us."   
  
"Yee-haw?" Heero asked dryly from the corner where he was studying his lines.   
  
"Yee-haw," Duo repeated with determination. He was about to add more when Relena entered with the day's mail.   
  
"OUT!" Wufei said, struggling into a shirt. He had recently gotten back from a 5-kilometer run, and was still trying to cool off in the unairconditioned environment.   
  
Relena smiled sweetly, feigning to be innocent before remarking, "It's not like I haven't seen anything like that before. I'm no idiot. I was cursed with two brothers and dated Alec. You remember him, don't you? Tall. Dark. Handsome. Could kick all your butts on the basketball court. Trust me, you don't have anything *special*."   
  
Wufei glowered at her.   
  
Relena smirked, knowing she had won the battle. She flipped a rubber-banded stack at the American who tossed the papers up into the air repeatedly. "I could beat Alec anytime, any place. Of course I didn't wanna humiliate him, him being the basketball captain an' stuff. By the way, Babe, what ever happened to Murasaki? She seems to have been avoiding me for the longest of times."   
  
"First and foremost, I am not your 'babe,' so dream on, lover boy. Second, Ono Murasaki is not interested in you now. Not that that means that she was interested in you before, but now it's a definite no. You shouldn't've been so immature as to have been running around with a water gun."   
  
"How was I supposed to know she was wearing a white shirt? She walked into my line of fire."   
  
"I think she was clued in by the fact that you were stalking her."   
  
"Aw, come on! Where's the thrill of the chase when there's no one to chase? You gotta stalk your unsuspecting prey and then, when you're close enough, you pounce-"   
  
"Shouting, 'Shinigami claims another'? You really don't know diddly shit about getting a girl's attention, do you? No wonder you were dateless all through high school."   
  
"Hey, that was by choice! Plus, it didn't help that what's-her-face was always bugging me about going out with her. She wasn't God's gift to the eyes."   
  
"I always knew you were shallow."   
  
"Speak for yourself, Miss I-dated-Mr.-Hotshot-Basketball-Captain-for-two-years-running-only-because-he-had-a-cool-ride."   
  
Relena turned red, and threw the remaining mail on the counter next to the petal-plucked stalks.   
  
"Nice going, Duo," Heero said dryly. He got up and paced to the counter, where the envelopes lay scattered about. By means of his right index finger he spread the white rectangles out further, making it possible to see the names of all the addressees. Delicately, he picked up the sole letter meant for him and returned to his corner. The youth gingerly opened the white pouch and slipped out the contents, holding it at arms length, as it were a letter bomb. He turned red and quickly applied himself to the task of shredding it into small pieces.   
  
Trowa helped himself to his mail and tossed Quatre his. Wufei got one, which happened to be another rant about his character's views on women. Growling, the Chinese teen prepared to launch himself into a long drawn-out rant when Quatre stopped him by speaking first, "This is the second one this week."   
  
A typed sheet was in his hand. "What is this, 'Pharaoh, let my people go'? I don't own anybody, so how can I let them go? I don't understand. How can I be shown the truth with a river of blood? First of all, that doesn't exist, and second, what truth?" Quatre paused for a minute, and then continued, after dredging up some forgotten knowledge. A glimmer of recognition flashed in his eye as he looked up to the rest of the lounging actors. "It's from Exodus, the book that entails the Hebrews' wandering in the desert for forty years after they fled Egypt. I guess some religious fanatic is protesting the show."   
  
"Yup. Should we chalk it up to a violent boy, hormone crazed girl, or the single-sane child that sent you the stalks?"   
  
Heero remarked knowledgeably, "Just ignore it. Marriage proposals and death threats should just be tossed out-"   
  
"Like the garbage they are," Duo concluded.   
  
Trowa shrugged and followed their advice, tossing a letter he had just received into the trash. It fluttered and lay open for all to read. But no one bothered to.   
  
{Israelite of Yore:  
  
No longer must you worship a golden idol, for Moses has returned unto you to lead you into Canaan...}   
  
  
~*~  
  
  
Quatre closed his eyes and pushed against the door. Here was his corner of the world where he could unwind and not have to worry about public image. If a man's house was his castle, this apartment was Quatre's solace.   
  
Riyad twined himself about his master's legs, meowing furiously. Quatre looked down and opened his eyes. The cat seemed ruffled, but nothing else. He bent down and scooped the feline up. As Quatre raised his eyes, he saw the walls of his apartment; the normally faded yellow walls had taken on a pure white hue. He heard the rustling of paper and noticed the writing on the walls. The Arab approached the buttresses of his private niche, only to see his security fail in protecting him from the outside evils. Thousands of sheets of paper created a wallpaper of accusations.   
  
{SLUT}   
  
{WHORE}   
  
{HARLOT}   
  
{HUSSY}   
  
Quatre tore them down, biting his tongue, trying not to swear, trying not to cry, trying not to think.   
  
{JEZEBEL}   
  
{WANTON}   
  
{SLATTERN}   
  
He whirled about the apartment with the energy of a madman, ripping the paper from his once fortified defenses against the tribulations of the outside world.   
  
'Why me? What have I done to deserve this? How'd they get here? Who should I tell? Should I tell anyone? Don't cry. It's just words, they're not permanent. They're just words on paper, it's nothing to be upset about. But I am upset; I shouldn't have to deal with this. If I say anything the papers will be all over it, and father'll force me back with him. There goes my freedom. Just clean this up and it will all go away,' Quatre thought savagely, as he tore down the accusations.   
  
{FLOOZY}   
  
{WENCH}   
  
{TRAMP}   
  
Quatre dumped all the evidence in the sink and lit a match. With determined finality he let it fall.   
  
'Let this be the end of it. Please, Allah, let it end in this fire.'   
  
The papers burst into flame and within minutes were reduced to a soft, chalky material that turned to dust when touched. The Arab watched with little satisfaction as the words turned into nothing but gray ash. When the blaze had died down the slight teen scooped the remains out of the metal sink and into the garbage. He scrubbed his hands thoroughly under hot water afterwards.   
  
(1)Ack! I'm referring to _The Odyssey_ again. I thought I had quit that habit. Anyhow, the Lotus-Eaters were a friendly people, but those who ate the plant lost all memory of home and duty. *hugs cliff notes* I misplaced the actual book.   
  
  



	5. What the Camera Doesn't See: Part V

What the Camera Doesn't See  
=======================================================   
Title: What the Camera Doesn't See: Part V  
Author: Genji  
Warnings & Disclaimer: See Part I  
Denotationgs:  
  
'thoughts'  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Written story  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
{Written Words}  
"Dialog"  
*emphasis* think italics  
~*~ Change of scene  
  
=======================================================  
  
The tree is known by his fruit.  
--Mathew 12:33  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
Trowa sighed and opened the common room's door, which had just been rapped at furiously before. A bush, suspended in mid-air, greeted him. No, someone was holding it. That became apparent as an arm snaked out of the foliage, trying not to do more damage to the already lacerated skin. Attached to the disembodied limb was a clipboard. Trowa took it, signed it and gave it back, only to be presented with the heavy, potted bush. The youth brought the plant in and set it next to Quatre's green stalks. The limbs were bent under the weight of unripened fruit.   
  
The youth stood back and analyzed the raspberry bush bearing his favorite produce, before he pushed the branches aside and proceeded to look for a card in between the inner and the outer containers. His fingers touched paper and he pulled it out, only to reveal that it was shredded ribbons of that material. On one side of the narrow strips there were typed words.   
  
His hand ventured back into the nether region between ceramic outer barrier and plastic inner. More scraps of processed tree pulp became apparent and Trowa added the new findings to the growing pile. When all the pieces had been 'rescued' from the darkness the small bush had so generously provided, he carried the slips to the table, which had been unfolded earlier in the day. Normally the card table spent the days leaning up against the wall, but for some inexplicable reason it had been used.   
  
With an aura of inexhaustible patience, Trowa started to piece together the paper puzzle.   
  
  
~*~  
  
  
Ida sat on the floor, a furry canine ball of energy had finally settled down into the well-used lap. Elly lazed about on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. She was not in the best of moods, since her boss enjoyed, for some sadistic reason, burning the midnight oil. Her job was geared towards becoming an author. The girl had spent her teen years bent over a keyboard, pounding out her magnum opus. It was an intricate work, but the publishers scoffed at her because of her age, and now she was waiting for anyone to take her seriously. The writer she worked for was just starting out and it had taken some major greasing of the wheels to get the internship-like post.   
  
Morganna lay sprawled on the floor, trying to coax a frightened calico out from its niche under the couch. The feline yowled in protest, having not become yet conversant with the furry newcomer that was now residing in its old, accustomed place.   
  
Lucie sat on the floor, the remote control in her hand as she played and paused whenever she decided she had a good view of her choice character. She rolled her R's in preparation of what she would do when a certain someone would appear on screen.   
  
"STOP!" Krista yelled as the scene where Duo was helping Heero walk after the 'skydiving without opening one's parachute' bit came on. Lucie grumbled slightly, but complied, as Krista got ready to throw the nearest object, which just happened to be a hard cover edition of {The Arabian Nights}, at the blonde's head.   
  
"Morg, you gotta draw me this. Only put Trowa where Duo is-- the two soldiers finding relief in each other's arms. That's the way to go. Mmmm," Krista drooled, the possibilities of what might happen between the Heavyarms pilot and the former assassin.   
  
"I'm not a machine, Kris. I've gotta be inspired."   
  
"Well, then get inspired," Krista pouted, and the scene moved on. She ran her hands through Ida's cropped hair. It was a running joke that the two were paired off, but the joke had gotten the brunette wondering as she let her fingers comb her own shoulder length hair. She was more confused than anything. There was something about just being around her best friends that made her feel safe. But she wouldn't go down that road; it would ruin anything that had been achieved over the last eight years since the two had met.   
  
The room erupted in comments as Darlian's daughter emerged on screen, since Lucie had fast-forwarded the tape to the end. A couple pillows were thrown at the TV before Elly threatened them all with certain death. She watched carelessly, unsure of whether she wanted to stay or go, and when she closed her eyes there were eyes staring back at her. Some of her own creation, others belonged to those that would never be hers. She sighed and watched Morganna carelessly twirl the end of her braid.   
  
'You're bound to us, girlie, whether you like it or not. You got us started down this destructive road.' Morganna had said it. It seemed so long ago now.   
  
"Morganna, give me a plot idea for this 4 x 3 you wanted me to write. I have the worst time coming up with fresh ideas," Kris wheedled, pulling away from Ida and standing up. She walked across the room, ejected the video, much to Lucie's dismay, and inserted one of the Escaflowne tapes. As the credits played, Krista announced, "Dibs on Van." The almost-Heero look-alike was practicing his swordsmanship in the dark, and the girl let out a contented sigh.   
  
"He sounds like Trowa," Lucie remarked, raising the volume to hear the actor's smooth voice.   
  
"Heero's looks and Trowa's voice..." Krista sighed. "I could go for a guy like that." She was about to continue, but was cut off by an Elly-launched pillow.   
  
Krista, laughing, threw herself on her attacker, screaming, "You'd be killed five times before you hit the ground-- if I were Heero."   
  
  
~*~  
  
  
Quatre watched the set listlessly.   
  
"For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings,  
Carry them here and there, jumping o'er times,  
Turning the accomplishments of many years  
Into an hour-glass: for the which supply,  
Admit me Chorus to this history;  
Who prologue-like your humble patience pray,  
Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play."  
  
"Yo! What's with the Shakespeare? Planning on leaving us for the theater? Why would you give up the glory of this for 'Henry the Fifth'?" Duo asked, a glass of water clutched in his right hand. He was wearing his civvies, as the American called the clothes they came to work in. A pair of khaki cargo shorts sat on his narrow hips while a gray tee was draped over his shoulders. He sat down next to the jeans-clad Quatre.   
  
"You know Shakespeare? They never did a good job with it at high school."   
  
Duo grinned and remarked, "School wasn't worth my time. They had a decent library, though. It was the rhythm and the couplets and stuff that drew me to that little forgotten corner where I could read to my heart's content. His tragedies were sorta like this," Duo gestured to the set and continued. "My fave was "Othello". You gotta love Iago. He's simply devious in that play. Actually, he's considered as one of the dude's best creations."   
  
Quatre gave a half smile, "And it's filled with dirty jokes. The general really didn't have a right to call Desdemona all those awful things. She was not a whore. Not a wench."   
  
"Chill out, man. It's only a play written by a dead dude. She was fictitious, ya know? Simply the product of a guy not hindered by writer's block, unlike the sorry excuses we have for writers. They don't know if they wanna write Trowa out or what. An' Relena's not improving their mood any. Always bugging them to make Heero either actually kill her, or tell him to shove off. I have a feeling there's gonna be another self-degradation scene, with a 'Heero! Hurry, please come and kill me' scream from Miss. Hotshot herself."   
  
"She's gonna destroy them one of these days. Personally, I think they're taking her character a little to the extreme. But-" Quatre shrugged, "I really can't argue with the writers. What will Trowa do if he is thrown outta a job?"   
  
"Probably finish that puzzle first, then go to college, or something. Maybe nose 'round here for a job-- not here, here, but, you know, the general vicinity."   
  
"Puzzle?"   
  
"Oh, you haven't been into the dressing room today, have you? Of course not, you're still in *normal* clothes. Wufei's god knows where, Yuy'll be coming in later today and Trowa's in the common room-thingy, and you and I are out here, in our civvies. 'Course we really don't have uniforms to speak of, but that's beside the point.   
  
"Yuy's talking about causing some serious trouble with wardrobe. Spandex and a tank, god I feel sorry for him. 'Course I also feel sorry for wardrobe people when they finally meet face to face. I don't know where they got the idea for the Sanc Kingdom garb. There are wa-ay too many frills and ruffles.   
  
"But we were talking about Trowa, right? Yeah, he has some paper scraps, I think he shredded something important and now he's trying to piece it together. It's gonna be a long day for him, must've been, like, 10 pages down the tubes."   
  
"Aa."   
  
  
~*~  
  
  
Trowa applied pressure on the last strip of tape. It was finished, well the first page was. It looked like the beginning of a story. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Title: Chains  
Author: Kagetsu   
Pairing: 4 x 3  
Rating: NCS-17  
Warnings: bondage, language, lemon, PWP, yaoi, possible OOC  
Notes: If you're a minor, hit delete. Shield your eyes from my ramblings  
Dedication: This one goes out to you, Kuri Kumi. Thanks for the pic...  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Trowa stopped reading, and wondered. What the hell was a lemon? Who was Kagetsu? Yaoi? He'd hear something about it in passing, but not into great depth. He read on.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Trowa open his eyes and immediately knew that something was wrong, like the way he knew when he hit a wrong note, instinctively after years of experience. He tried to sit up, tried to stretch, but found that to be impossible. This set off alarms and the mercenary tensed, not needing to look to know that he wasn't in his bed, unclothed and chained to the furniture with his hobbles about his feet connecting to the cuffs he wore on his hands, leaving his ass very exposed. Memories drifted back to the days before he had become a pilot.   
  
He shuddered, and let his green orbs scan the room. It was darkened, save for some strategically placed candles, casting eerie, forever changing shadows onto the walls. The youth struggled against his bonds with lion-like strength. But to no avail, the metal didn't even so much as groan under his exertion. A voice drifted out from the darkness, liltingly. Light and supposedly innocent, but no one innocent would have placed the Heavyarms pilot in such a position.   
  
"I've been waiting for you, Trowa."   
  
"..." He struggled even though his mind had already deemed such actions as useless.   
  
"Fight it all you want, but such resistance is futile."  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The page stopped there, and Trowa looked with dismay at the pile of paper ribbons and put the reconstructed paper aside.   
  
'What the hell? Why am I being written about? Duo was right. Only wackos watch the show, so why should I expect any better?' Trowa thought and gathered up the slips, tossing the entire collection into the trash.   
  
He didn't need to read that sick excuse for a story. Trowa turned and his eyes rested on the bush on the counter. Half of him wanted to chuck the plant out the window and deal with the consequences of an irate producer. The other half told him that it was a waste of a good raspberry bush. He hadn't seen one around since he had moved from cold, snowy New York to balmy south Roanoke. He sighed, and walked out of the room, disgusted with himself and Kagetsu, whoever that was.   
  
  
~*~


	6. What the Camera Doesn't See: Part VI

What the Camera Doesn't See  
======================================================  
Title: What the Camera Doesn't See: Part: VI  
Author: Genji  
Disclaimer & Warnings: See Part I  
Denotations:  
  
'thoughts'  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Written story  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
{Written Words}  
"Dialog"  
*emphasis* think italics  
~*~ Change of scene  
=======================================================  
  
My dear, dumb friend, low lying there,  
A willing vassal at my feet,  
Glad partner of my home and fare  
My shadow in the street  
--Josiah Holland, To My Dog "Blanco"  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
The phone rang.   
  
"Hello?"   
  
"Have you seen Sandra? You know, my puppy?" the voice demanded, panic breaking the caller's voice.   
  
"No. Why? Is she missing?" the other asked.   
  
"Yes! She's been gone since Friday, when we were together."   
  
"That's too bad. Sorry, I can't help you. I'll let you know if I see her."   
  
"Thanks. I'm going crazy here. God, I miss her."   
  
"She'll find her way back home, I'm sure of that. But I'll keep an eye out for her."   
  
"You're the best. I gotta go call up the others now, maybe they've seen her. G'bye."   
  
"Bye."   
  
  
~*~  
  
  
Quatre walked into his apartment. Instead of the usual trying not to trip over the cat routine, he was rewarded with hissing and barking, as well as the destruction of his apartment.   
  
The curtains were in shreds from Riyad trying to escape his foe. A glass that he had left out on the table lay in shatters, and pillows lay all about the floor, some of their stuffing shaken out. Quatre hurried to the source of the disturbing sounds.   
  
He found a little puppy on the ground, barking and wagging its tail, as Riyad, scared out of his wits by this newcomer, hissed back from his refuge on top of the bookshelf. The puppy, which was untagged and seemingly fat due to all the soft black puppy fur it still wore, waddled forward and started licking the quiet teen's hands.   
  
"How'd you get in here, pup? You really are a beautiful-" he lifted the baby dog up, "girl. Do you have a name? No not that you could tell me. I understand. Well, I'll just call you Nawal. Gift.   
  
"Of course I can't keep you. Look what you did to Riyad. I'll put some flyers up, and then tomorrow we'll go to work and we'll see if anyone can keep you for the duration. I don't want Riyad to spend his days in terror because of an overly friendly pupster. Don't worry, I'm sure that there'll be someone who'd be thrilled to have you."   
  
Nawal licked the gentle Arab's face. He smiled indulgently and scratched the pup's white underbelly. Riyad watched from his perch on the bookshelf, but didn't move.   
  
Quatre put Nawal down and walked to the kitchen, the little canine loping after him. "Whatever am I gonna feed you?" he asked rhetorically.   
  
  
~*~  
  
  
"What's with the dog?" Duo asked, petting Nawal's head. The puppy stood up against the sides of the tall plastic container Quatre had scrounged up. Quatre placed down a cereal bowl, filled with water.   
  
"She appeared in my apartment. Gave Riyad a run for his money, so I can't keep her. I've got a feeling she wasn't meant for me, but is a run away. Spent the morning hanging up flyers, and stuff. I'm sure she belongs to a good home, just a run away."   
  
"So, why'd you bring her here?" Duo had pulled the Burmese Mountain Dog puppy out of the container, and she curled up in the hollow that was created when he sat Indian-style on the floor.   
  
"If we find an owner, and so she doesn't get into any trouble."   
  
As if the Arab had given the female an idea she picked up her head and wagged her tail before bringing it down to rest on the braided youth's leg.   
  
"I'd take her, but there's a no dog rule at my place," Duo said ruefully.   
  
"Figures."   
  
"Why don't you leave her here?" Trowa asked, standing in the doorway. How long he had stood there, Quatre wasn't sure.   
  
"But someone's gotta keep an eye on her."   
  
"I'll be here. Lou the night watchman called in sick, and I need to work on a couple things, so why not stay the night?" Trowa remarked carelessly, watching the lax puppy lazing in Duo's lap.   
  
"That'd be great." A smile broke out on the blonde's face.   
  
Trowa shrugged. "No problem."   
  
He tossed a piece of paper into the trash and walked out.   
  
The words written on the letter played through the tall youth's head. {Jezebel, you whore, you shall rue the day when you defaced one that was your better. That day is soon upon us, and I will come for what you took from me.}   
  
  
~*~  
  
  
Trowa stormed out of the building, wanting some time alone. He was glad he had screened the mail before delivering it. Murasaki had thrust it into his arms, with explicit instructions before going to yell at her minions on crew. As a stage manager she was a formidable figure, as a person she was an icy force. The teen had recognized the writing, even though it had been addressed to Quatre this time. He had opened it then and there, knowing that his friend would simply shrug it off. The stolen item was the puppy; no one in their right mind would sacrifice such a sweet tempered dog.   
  
The youth walked out into the gravel lot, just to clear his head. But the fresh air did not bring about solace for him. On the outside wall of the studio, written in red were the words, {Trowa, Forever Yours, Rae}. Each letter was easily three feet tall, and there was a small crowd, mostly crew, standing about.   
  
The youth stormed through the mob, giving them an uncustomary glare, before grabbing a hose, which was used to create rain, when the need arose. Turning the water on full blast, he tried to wash away the stains on the wall. They remained, glistening like fresh blood in the sunshine. The throng had dispersed by then and Trowa put the hose down in defeat. He needed paint. Tomorrow this defacement of the building would be erased.   
  
  
~*~  
  
  



	7. What the Camera Doesn't See: Part VII

What the Camera Doesn't See  
=======================================================   
Title: What the Camera Doesn't See: Part: VII  
Author: Genji  
Disclaimer & Warnings: See Part I  
Denotations:  
  
'thoughts'  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Written story  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
{Written Words}  
"Dialog"  
*emphasis* think italics  
~*~ Change of scene  
======================================================  
  
I look into your great brown eyes,  
Where love and loyal homage shine,  
And wonder where the difference lies  
Between your soul and mine!  
--Josiah Holland, To My Dog "Blanco"  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
Morganna looked listlessly out the window. Ida's mood was dragging everyone down. She flipped the end of her braid at Sweetie Pie, Ida's house cat, who seemed to be enjoying the respite from Sandra's reign of terror. Ida herself sat brooding on the sofa. Even Lucie's suggestion of getting into the normal teenage trouble found a lukewarm reception. Elly had gone home with a headache, and Krista was literally banging her head against the wall for inspiration. Her series had stopped two editions in, and while she had gotten a few responses, they were not enough to motivate her.   
  
Morganna got up, crossed the room and yanked Krista's ponytail, stopping her forehead two inches from the wall.   
  
"What's this for?" Krista asked dryly.   
  
"You're giving me a headache."   
  
"Mmm. You try writing an arc on a series that hasn't completely aired."   
  
"Ida?" Lucie asked from her corner.   
  
"Yeah, Luce? You find something? You see Sandra?" Ida asked, her voice unusually guarded, as if she were trying not to get her hopes up.   
  
"Is-are-I mean are Trowa and the rest...well-um-um-"   
  
"Gay?" Ida sighed and drew an abstract pattern into the sofa's arm. "Do any of the guys you know wear jeans that tight?"   
  
"No. So he-they-he is?"   
  
"You said it, I didn't." A determined look crossed the petite girl's face. "Let's go to the pound. She might've been picked up. I'm sure she's there. I feel it. I just feel it. I know she's there."   
  
Krista groaned. "We were just there two hours ago and she wasn't there. They said they would call. You made them promise a hundred times. And you almost got threatened with a restraining order."   
  
"But she might be there," Ida maintained obstinately.   
  
"Tell you what," Morganna intervened, "Let's go pick up Elly and drag her down there with us."   
  
"I've seen enough dogs for one lifetime," Lucie said, picking up the neglected Sweetie Pie.   
  
Of course Ida wouldn't take this veiled refusal. Dragging the taller girl out by her hair, the four made their way to the car.   
  
  
~*~  
  
  
"So how was she?" Quatre asked, picking up Nawal. Trowa shrugged, that was enough of an answer for him. The blond teen put the puppy down and started walking out the door, the small dog following at his heels. The two made their way around the moving sets, dodged the running crew, skirted the yelling director, and broke free of the crowded indoors only to meet with the throng of people that were outdoors, working on god knows what. Nawal pounced into the brush on the edge of the field, sniffing the new odors with excitement.   
  
Quatre watched her with an air of enjoyment. Perhaps Riyad and Nawal would eventually get along and he wouldn't have to give her away. He didn't want to give away his puppy. It was peculiar what the effect one turning of the earth could do.   
  
A black Jeep pulled into the parking lot, but the Arab thought nothing more of it, until his ward took off in the direction of the new comers.   
  
"SANDRA!" The excited voice pierced the boy's thoughts. "I thought I would never see you again. I was so worried about you, girl. Never ever, ever, ever leave me like that again."   
  
The actor watched a girl sitting on the gravel, being licked to death by the excited Nawal--no, it was Sandra. He was unwilling to give the friendly pup away to anyone. Quatre walked toward the happy pair, but the girl with the cropped hair paid him no heed. He cleared his throat slightly, and sapphire eyes looked up, shimmering with unshed tears.   
  
"Were you the one who found her?" she asked, turning her attention back to the canine, which was now laying on its back, white underbelly shown as the young woman with cerulean eyes ran her fingers through the silky threads found there.   
  
Quatre nodded, a lump forming in his throat. He didn't want to give up his newfound companion, but the joy he saw in both the soft brown and crystalline azure was enough to tell him that it would be a mistake not to. Within minutes he had been thoroughly glomped.   
  
She pulled away, embarrassed by what she had just done. "Sorry," she mumbled, and pulled out her wallet from her back pocket. "I suppose you want some proof. I don't have Sandra's papers-"   
  
"I think she speaks for herself."   
  
The girl looked down and saw the ball of black patiently sitting at her feet. When the puppy realized that her master was looking at her, Sandra's tail moved back and forth, creating a small dust storm at ground level.   
  
"Thanks. Sandra, wanna go for a ride? Wanna go home? Come on girl!" She passed the open windows of the jeep and opened up the trunk. The puppy trotted to the back, and the girl picked her up and placed her in the back. She returned to the driver side and got in. Quatre walked up and offered her his hand.   
  
"I don't believe I quite got your name."   
  
"Ida."   
  
"Ida what?"   
  
"Baroque. Ida Baroque. My mom's idea of a joke. Funny. Ha ha," she laughed dryly, and shook the proffered hand, even though it was at an odd angle.   
  
"Quatre-"   
  
"Raberba Winner. I know. I just don't see the point of making a big deal about celebs or whatnot. They have their job and I have mine. I wouldn't want people interrupting me when I was at work, and I assume they don't want it either. Nice meeting you, I guess. Thanks for taking care of Sandra."   
  
She pulled out, not wanting to carry on a strained conversation. Morganna poked her from the back. "I think he likes you."   
  
"No, he likes my dog, not me, and that's just nifty. 'Cause I really don't see the point about mooning over someone, whether they're cute or not. If I'm gonna get with someone, I want it to be where there's some sort of prior knowledge, and consent, an' stuff."   
  
"Plus, you said you were gonna marry me," Krista remarked with a smile.   
  
"I'm all yours, puddin'."   
  
Lucie laughed, "But you also proposed Lenae and Llynda and Dusty, and they all accepted."   
  
Ida just laughed.   
  
Krista's smile faded, ever so slightly and now it seemed like a forced smirk, plastered on her face with some irremovable super glue. Quietly she crumpled the flier that pictured Sandra looking mischievously into the camera.   
  
  
~*~  
  
  
"That was an interesting bit of philosophy," Quatre mused, watching the car drive down the road to nowhere.   
  
"Q-man!" Duo shouted, running up to the wistful Arab. "Where's Nawal? I was thinking of teaching her a couple tricks. Maybe some basic obedience, such as 'Go chase the mailman' or 'Destroy this priceless piece of furniture.' I've read some books, and I found out that you COULD teach a new dog old tricks. So maybe she can be a search and destroy dog."   
  
"It's search and rescue," Quatre said, still watching a non-existent dust cloud on the horizon.   
  
"Same thing. Anyways, where is she? I wanna start before I've gotta go into that all black preacher garb crap. I don't know who thought what when they designed Shinigami's costume. Hmm...maybe I should start talking in the third person. Won't that piss off Murasaki? Of course your dad and his peeps won't be too pleased, but it would sure screw up the director dude, Galen. Hang on--where is your dog?"   
  
'My dog?' Quatre thought.   
  
"On her way home."   
  
"She ran away? Let's go look for her. It isn't safe for a puppy that young to be out there on her own. Let's go, let's go, let's go!" Duo started dragging Quatre out of the lot and towards the brush, where the braided American thought the rambunctious puppy had taken off into. Quatre shook his head and pulled away.   
  
"You don't understand. Her owner came and got her."   
  
"Oh-"   
  
Quatre gave a small, half smile. "It's no big deal. She just got away from home. I still haven't figured out how she got into my room." He sighed and started walked back into the studios.   
  
  
~*~  
  
  



	8. What the Camera Doesn't See: VIII

What the Camera Doesn't See  
=======================================================   
Title: What the Camera Doesn't See: Part: VIII  
Author: Genji  
Disclaimer & Warnings: See Part I  
Denotations:  
  
'thoughts'  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Written story  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
{Written Words}  
"Dialog"  
*emphasis* think italics  
~*~ Change of scene  
=======================================================  
  
I'm scared today,  
Because I don't know   
What tomorrow might bring.  
  
~*~  
  
  
Trowa was grating carrots, cursing the inventor of the grater as he once again scraped his knuckles against the uneven surface. It would've been easier just to wash the orange vegetable, peel it and eat it, but grated, it possessed some sort of sweetness that carrot sticks just never seemed to come close to. He reached for another one, but stopped, feeling an unerring sense that someone was standing within ten feet of him. Warmth seemed to radiate from some spot behind him. He turned to find that his suspicions were true.   
  
She stood in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest. She was dressed in tight fitting jeans and a tank, giving her an ultimately feminine look, accentuating curves that no boy could ever possess.   
  
"What are you doing-"   
  
"In your apartment?" The girl laughed. "I thought you wouldn't be surprised by this. It is a very simple lock, single tumbler. I've only been picking them for a couple years now, because my sister kept on hanging out in the bathroom for wa-ay to long, and I always hadda brush my teeth before the bus came."   
  
"But that gives you no-"   
  
"Excuse. Yeah, I know. But, hey, I'm a teenager. No one expects much from us. Plus, what's life without the risk?"   
  
She approached, brandishing a rope. "Up for a little fun?"   
  
Trowa felt along the countertop behind him, searching for a weapon. He came up with a paring knife. She laughed, and in one swift motion it clattered onto the floor. The boy took a swing but she blocked it, holding onto the fist.   
  
"I thought you'd be stronger," she remarked disappointedly. The girl released the hand and stood back, the rope hung uselessly to the ground, like some sort of brown demon tail. "Almost not worth my time, but I've never done anything like this before, so you'll have to do."   
  
"I'll have to do?"   
  
She nodded, and grabbed one of his wrists. He shook her off, and made a dash for the phone, only to be brought down by a tackle. His face crushed against the linoleum and he felt the rope wrapping around his lower forearms.   
  
"Why?"   
  
"Do you really take me for one of those loser villains they always have in movies that disclose everything to the hero? I'm not that stupid. A pity they only taught you stage fighting, because otherwise you might be more of a challenge."   
  
"Why?"   
  
"Why does a hunter hunt?"   
  
"For meat and the animal's pelt."   
  
"I should hardly think I'm a cannibal. I hate that you would think I'm that low."   
  
"Sport?"   
  
"Your words, not mine. Now let's go. And if you try to attract attention we'll just have to make this a little more uncomfortable. Understand?" The girl punctuated this statement by yanking him to his feet. Trowa was pushed out the door, down the stairs (the elevator was too risky) and into the parking lot. She put him in the front passenger seat of red Ford pickup and slid in next to him.   
  
For a while they drove in silence, she chose rambling roads out of the city.   
  
"God, I didn't think it would be this way. You don't even know how to fight, and I know the gundams aren't real so there's really no difference between you and Joe Shmoe, save for the fact that when this all ends there will be headlines and scandal and stuff. Maybe this'll teach you to beef up security or what have you.   
  
"I suppose you're thinking if I wanted a challenge why I didn't chose Heero. Frankly, I'm not the kind that enjoys being killed, or having to kill the others, but I probably shouldn't've said that. Of course you're going to make it out alive, if you cooperate. Strange words for a stalker, right? I don't know. Stalking's more about the mind games, and the chase. It's the getting, not the having. I think Zechs said that, didn't he? However, every chase has its end, and I didn't feel like tormenting Quatre anymore."   
  
They were on a country road now, not another sign of civilization for miles around. Trowa looked out the window stonily.   
  
"I suppose he's a good guy and everything, but I don't think he'd stand up to what I had planned, plus he took everything too easily. He didn't seem to suspect anything, and if I hit him hard all of a sudden... Well I'm not one to look forward to any charges involving animal cruelty."   
  
"But what about kidnapping?"   
  
"I can deal with that. What is that? A year or two behind bars before they let me lose again? Frankly, that seems more appealing than having to go through the life that I'm headed into. You can go to college when you're in jail, and you don't hafta deal with the loans. So you give up your freedom for a little while. I'm not as stupid when it comes to computers as I pretend. If anyone knew what I was capable of--well it just wouldn't be any fun. Deception is a funny thing, isn't it?"   
  
"If you say so."   
  
They were parked in a field now, and Trowa could've probably made a run for it if he had wanted to. However the person sitting next to him had captured his interest. She seemed so self-assured, and yet, so confused.   
  
"I mean the entire show is one big lie. You and everyone are in on it. There's nothing special about you, it's all an illusion. I wasn't that sure of it when this whole trip started. I thought you might even be a shadow of whom you played. Of course, I screw up again. You not only create the illusion of your own prowess, but the way you and Quatre interact--it's led people to believe that you two were, well, involved. I want to set the record straight. Are you?"   
  
Trowa stared straight ahead, unwilling to acknowledge the girl's question.   
  
"Well, when we're finished with this, why don't you let the world know for good? I hate not knowing. Stupid, isn't it? But this just pisses me off." She placed a couple of pages on his lap. After a quick perusal, Trowa realized it was the same fic that had turned up in the raspberry bush's pot.   
  
"Yaoi. God, I hate it. Sure, I mean there's nothing wrong with being gay, but why the hell write stuff about it? It doesn't make sense to me. Maybe that's the problem with growing up Catholic.   
  
"Never was truly religious, though. It was a pain in the neck to look all that Bible stuff up, but it was a high, just writing the letters. The possibility of getting caught, it's intoxicating. God, it's enough to make me loopy just thinking about it. Some people are addicted to drugs; I'm an adrenaline junky. Ok, that's not fair. I can go without it, but it's so much damn fun. And this is my last year of security before-" she gestured to the field with a wide sweeping motion, "they kick me out there. I hate it."   
  
"You're scared?"   
  
The girl smiled. "Now why would I go about telling my weaknesses to you? Of course I'm an idiot and I've already revealed all. So much for promising not to be the stupid villain. Yeah, I guess. You've got a steady job. I've been accepted to a school--a good one I'm told--but none of my friends are even going to be remotely close. We're splitting up after knowing each other since forever. I don't want to be faced with the possibilities. It's frightening."   
  
"And, somehow, going to jail would solve this?"   
  
"Uh-huh. You don't get all these choices. There's some sort of structure running through it all, and then, gradually, I'll be able to get used to it. But here I am being just--oh forget it. I'll drop you off by the police station so you can file a report."   
  
She started up the car and they drove back to the city. When they finally stopped outside the station, she pulled out a hunting knife and easily slit the teen's bonds. He got out and turned back.   
  
"What name should I give them?"   
  
"I may be an idiot, but I'm not a moron. I think you'll be able to find that out for yourself. I certainly don't plan on turning myself in. That totally defeats the purpose."   
  
Trowa closed the door and watched the red truck drive away. He wrote down her plate number and walked in.   
  
  
~*~  
  
  
"What can I do for you, kid?" the tired looking man behind the counter asked.   
  
Trowa looked up, realizing that the graying clerk was talking to him. "Yes, I'd like to report-" He looked out the window. "Forget it. Intuitions can be wrong."   
  
"Filing a fraudulent police report is a crime, sonny. Better come back when you're sure."   
  
Trowa walked out and thought, 'I think this is a more fitting punishment, girl. The world can't be as frightening as you make it out to be.'   
  
He shook his head and started walking home. There were carrots to be eaten.   
  
~OWARI~   
  



	9. What the Camera Doesn't See: Epilogue

What the Camera Doesn't See  
=======================================================   
Title: What the Camera Doesn't See: Epilogue (a section for those that hate cliffhangers)  
Author: Genji  
Disclaimer & Warnings: See Part I  
Denotations:  
  
'thoughts'  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Written story  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
{Written Words}  
"Dialog"  
*emphasis* think italics  
~*~ Change of scene  
=======================================================  
  
Sometimes disillusionment  
Is the best thing that can happen.  
You don't keep on chasing   
The Impossible dream.   
  
~*~  
  
  
Krista grinned as the closing credits ran across the screen. However, not everyone seemed to have enjoyed what they had just seen. Ida was too caught up with her puppy to notice. Morganna was sketching something, something that looked like Quatre with Sandra at his feet. Elly was hard at work proofing her own writing. Lucie had persuaded her to try for publication once again.   
  
Lucie got up from the floor and turned the TV off. It crackled and then was still. Her blond hair was tied in a loose ponytail at the base of her neck, from the front she looked surprisingly like the Arab actor that Morganna was endeavoring to draw.   
  
"So, what do we do now?" Krista asked, stretching lazily.   
  
Lucie shook her head. "I don't know, but it doesn't seem to hold the same charm as before. Maybe we should find another obsession."   
  
"Hey, you said yourself it was a healthy attraction," Morganna interjected, adding fur to the paper Sandra.   
  
"I suppose I'm gonna hafta eat my words, then. Some things can just go too far."   
  
"Why the sudden change, Luce?" Krista asked, pushing her hair, which had now lightened to include blond streaks, behind her ears. Already a glazed look was coming over her, as she reviewed the events that had just taken place on screen, skewing them to fit her own twisted design.   
  
"Disillusionment."   
  
"Huh? Use smaller words. It's summer and I've lost the majority of my intelligence," Krista remarked, reaching for a magazine covered by five familiar faces.   
  
"Disappointment. That small enough?"   
  
"Uh-huh. So what brought about this delusion-a-ment thingy?"   
  
"Disillusionment," Morganna corrected.   
  
"Remember when we went to pick-up Sandra?"   
  
"And we did," Ida remarked happily, petting the troublesome puppy.   
  
"Yeah," Krista said, opening the magazine. "So what?"   
  
"You could see all the props. And everything, everything there was fake. Not one thing was what it actually was. Nothing but lies." Lucie took a deep breath. "You ever see someone you admire fail? Like the first time you realized that your folks weren't perfect, and it was then that you stopped putting them on a pedestal an' stuff. Well, that's what happened."   
  
"But you knew that before," Morganna said, continuing her work on Quatre.   
  
"There's something different between knowing it, and actually seeing it. If you don't see it, you can still pretend. But then you fall--hard."   
  
"So, what do you suggest?" Krista asked, putting down the stapled packet of colored paper.   
  
"Let's go to the mall, check out some guys and then, I don't know, go to the coast or something. I'm sure Sandra'd be happy to come along."   
  
"But she could run away," Ida said, "and then I might never see her again."   
  
"Have you heard of a leash? It's a piece of material that attaches you to your animal," Morganna remarked, trying not to smile.   
  
Ida threw a pillow at her. "I knew that."   
  
"Come on, let's get outta here," Lucie urged, tossing the strap of leather at Ida.   
  
Elly smiled, and got up from where she had been working. "I believe that's the smartest thing I've heard you say since this all began."   
  
"Oh, so my saying, 'Please, please, please submit this to a publisher' was not smart?"   
  
"Luce, you know what I mean."   
  
"Do I?"   
  
"You'd better. Or else." Elly grinned, and opened the door. The summer air filtered in, calling the incarcerated inmates of the house outside. Ida's black jeep sat next to Lucie's pickup.   
  
"Which one?" Morganna asked, folding her artwork into a crane for no particular reason.   
  
"Ida's. I'm not in the mood to have Sandra running around in the back of my car," Lucie remarked, opening the passenger side door.   
  
"Kris?" Ida called, locking the door behind her.   
  
"Yeah?"   
  
"Bring your wallet. You're paying for the gas."   
  
~OWARI~  
  
Thanks go to:  
  
My hard working beta-readers, R-chan, Danielle, Scherazade, and Echo (she decided to join us for one last time!)  
  
Dedication:  
To the unidealized Morganna, Lucie, Ida and Elly. Special glomps to Elly and Lucie. Elly for making her seem like the bitch she never is and Lucie for making her a subject to my torments. Sorry you didn't get to 'be' with Trowa, like I promised.  



End file.
